


Soul of Rebirth: Tunc E Converso

by ChibiTsukiHikari



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Albus Dumbledore Being an Asshole, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Baby Death Eaters - Freeform, Cassius is a sleepy dreamy boi, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Eventual Bottom Harry Potter, Eventual Top Tom Riddle, F/F, F/M, Harry Potter is a Little Shit, Harry is a saucy little shit, Harry is having none of his bias shit, Horcrux are bad for you yo, M/M, Manipulative Tom Riddle, Morally Grey Harry Potter, Orion is his own hyper warning, Panic Attacks, Personified Death Character, Possessive Behavior, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Psychological Torture, Romantic Soulmates, Soulmate Bond, Soulmates, Suicidal Thoughts, Time Travel, Time Travel Fix-It, Timeline What Timeline, Torture, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-24
Updated: 2020-12-31
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:08:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23287558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChibiTsukiHikari/pseuds/ChibiTsukiHikari
Summary: “Dawn, May 2nd of 1998. Tom Marvolo Riddle, otherly known as Lord Voldemort died, thus taking the other half of your soul with him.” Death droned out in a bored tone, “I do not make the rules, but the day he made you his Horcrux, soul-bound you as soulmates.”Harry blinked once, then he blinked twice before he burst into a fit of roaring laughter that brought tears to his eyes. It took him a few minutes to calm himself, wiping his eyes of excess water he sobered and stared blankly at Death, “You mean to tell me, that goddamn Tom fucking Riddle jr. is my soulmate? The same mass-murdering sociopath, who attacked an infant over a shitty prophecy that a drunk off her ass on cooking sherry, Sybill Trelawney projectile vomited into Albus Dumbledore’s ear? The same idiot Dark lord of the century, Lord bloody Voldemort?”
Relationships: Harry Potter/Tom Riddle, Harry Potter/Tom Riddle | Voldemort
Comments: 27
Kudos: 338





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> AN: Hey guys :D Trying my hand at Tomarry Time travel again :P you may know me as the author of Castle of Glass. Well this is my rewrite of sorts but it's gonna be a tad darker, more accurate, and less out of character I should hope. :) Here goes nothing! please read and review <3

It’s inexplicable how much life can change in a handful of hours, years even. People can fall in love, get married, have children, grow apart, divorce, move away, grow old together, or die alone. Seemingly, in the blink of an eye, everything can distort and warp; like ripples, intermingling on a water’s dark surface. You can’t ever see or tell where they go, but you can catch the after images and echoes of their existence, like dancing will-o'-the-wisp trailing paths to the underworld. His life was very much like that—except that while everyone else's ripples connected and faded to be reborn into the next life, his stayed frozen—forever permanent.

  
They were all turning thirty and here he still stood—looking barely at the threshold of eighteen. They’d all vehemently denied it at first, of course. Ginny, especially, was distraught and in denial, but the years kept passing and it became unavoidable not to acknowledge—that he was frozen in time. Perhaps in a way, he always had been. First in name, then in body. Daily glamours were damn near necessary by their mid to late thirties.

  
His children had long since grown and had children of their own. His wife, best friends, and everyone else he’d ever known aged and watched his sorrowful eyes—each of them donning identical, forced smiles.

  
Though surprisingly, Luna never gave him such glances—and he’d soon find out why. On her death bed, she told him this was just another path about to unfold and that he would find love and kinship again in a different time and place—and very soon.

  
Today, he was one-hundred-seventy-two-years old, and it was time. After all, shouldn’t he know when his story was over? Or maybe it was just the beginning? He was always fuzzy on what proper endings meant to him. The cool December air was biting as his breath frosted.

  
Godric’s Hollow was lovely even in the dead of winter—covered in crisp, freshly fallen snow. Going back to the start, where it had all began, felt fitting in a way that no other end truly could feel. Fingering the frayed Holly wood of his wand, he smiled, melancholic, as he pressed the very tip against his carotid artery. He briefly toyed with the idea of bleeding out against his parents' graves, leaving the halo of a bloody snow angel in his wake. But no, he was not as melodramatic as a pureblood would have been.

  
The killing curse hung loosely against his lips as he uttered them, almost inaudibly. And then, as if a shadowy hangman’s noose had snaked around his neck, his body crumbled upon the powdered snow. The snow now looked more like falling ash. The street lamps one-by-one went out as if giving a final moment of silence.

  
0000000000000000000000000

  
“So, when did you realize that you wanted to die?” Came the silky whisper. The voice sent goose-flesh down his neck, as a cold assault of sweat beaded all over his body in dread. No, this was supposed to be it. This was supposed to be his ending! Emerald orbs snapped open blazing like two twin pools of fire.

  
His surroundings manifested with a hiss of silvery smoke and mist like a memory just plucked and pulled from a Pensieve. An old courtyard came into view, in the full dying thrall of Demeter’s last blessings, splashes of orange, red and gold glittering in the trees sparsely.

  
The air was frigid, promising of the snow to come. Odd statues littered the grounds, like frozen dancers caught in midst of feasting for a Samhain harvest. But one figure stood out, whether or not it was a manner of man or beast Harry could not tell.

  
The being was wrapped in moving shadow, an ethereal glowing alabaster face poking through the opening of the deep billow of a hood. Set into the sharply angled face, were two cat-like golden eyes which were both amused but detached.

  
“You’re confused, it’s understandable if not a tad annoying.” Chided the inhuman man as it glided closer to him like a cross between a fae and a dementor.

  
Two long clawed hands came to cup his face, “You were never like them, surely you know that? You cannot hope to achieve the same afterlife.”

  
Harry let out a growl of breath and pulled away from the icy talons of the beast before him, “So, what are you? Death or something? Come to reap my soul personally? What splendor, that’s the Potter luck at it’s finest. I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised.”

  
Chuckling in a hissing wispy sort of way newly dubbed Death smirked, “No, my little Master nothing could ever be so easy. Not for you at least.” “If it’s not my soul that you want...what is it? The Hallows? You can have them, they are of no use to me, not anymore.”

  
Death circles him for a moment before picking a dying dark purple rose that turns darker and more feeble upon the god touching it, “As much as I’d love to ‘reap’ your soul as you put it, I cannot do so. For two reasons. One being your soul is incomplete, and two being you are my current Master. Without bestowing the three Hallow talisman onto another you will remain to be so.”

  
“I bloody well just told you, that you can have them back! Isn’t that what you want? And what is the nonsense about my soul being incomplete?” He frowned.  
“Dawn, May 2nd of 1998. Tom Marvolo Riddle, otherly known as Lord Voldemort died, thus taking the other half of your soul with him.” Death droned out in a bored tone, “I do not make the rules, but the day he made you his Horcrux, soul-bound you as soulmates.”

  
Harry blinked once, then he blinked twice before he burst into a fit of roaring laughter that brought tears to his eyes. It took him a few minutes to calm himself, wiping his eyes of excess water he sobered and stared blankly at Death, “You mean to tell me, that goddamn Tom fucking Riddle jr. is my soulmate? The same mass-murdering sociopath, who attacked an infant over a shitty prophecy that a drunk off her ass on cooking sherry, Sybill Trelawney projectile vomited into Albus Dumbledore’s ear? The same idiot Dark lord of the century, Lord bloody Voldemort?”

  
“Seems you have a lot to say about him, it’s good to know every part of yourself, Mister Potter. Even the darkest, disgusting, damnable parts you hate remembering.” “Why am I here? Is this a nightmare? Is Snape gonna come back to life and give me detention in his underwear?” He snarked back as he looked around for figments of his past to suddenly spring forward out of thin air.

  
The clouds overhead crackled some in warning, darkening, and thickening like an over bubbled cauldron ready to burst. Death merely loomed ever closer, a patient and pitying look taking on in his golden eyes, “Oh poor little Master, you were never loved enough, were you? Despite all the supposed happiness your wife and children brought about. You always felt halved, didn’t you? I can fix that if you so choose.”

  
“And how would you bring that about hmm? You already told me that I can’t see them again. So what's the damned point in anything anymore? Or did you not realize I killed myself on purpose dumbass?” He glared.

  
A Cheshire-grin of jagged rows of fangs was his reply, “Oh Master, on second thought perhaps I'll just send you without explaining. Oh and do say hello to Tommy boy, would you? I’ll be in touch.” And with an ominous snap of his claws, the cobbled stone courtyard beneath Harry’s feet gave way to inky black nothingness.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey....been a while....I have no excuses other than my usual so =P love ya

Pinpricks of freezing rain bit at his face and arms like hundreds of well-placed cigarette burns; he swallowed thickly around the taste of acid that filled the back of his throat and mouth. His senses were on overload. He swayed on his feet, blinking rapidly trying to clear his fogged and blurred vision.

His ears betrayed him with an annoying painful ringing screech of noise, he could only make out a lull of urgent whispers above the roar of blood pounding within his veins. Their groping hands kneading at his flesh almost desperately to get his attention. Letting out a scream of panic, he and lashed out with both magick and limbs as he kicked and flailed about making a gale of wind flatten at the masses around him; he tried futilely to fight against the many faces and hands trying to pin him down.

Inevitably a wand was roughly jutted into the jugular of his neck and with a flash of red suddenly he could no longer move an inch. His mouth was then pried open by persistent but gentle fingers, the liquid choked at him as it poured into his mouth and down his throat. Gagging he sputtered, but soon he drifted to the swaying current of urgent voices.

\--------------

Later he awoke again, this time, less urgently. His nose burned at the scent of sharp antiseptic soap, cleaning spray, and the feel of harsh, low-grade fabric grazing his sore, sensitive skin.

Slowly opening his eyes, he took an inward breath and let out a hiss of pain—the brightness of daylight streaming in naturally, through what appeared to be a small medic ward hospital window, greeted him.

“I’ve already told you, he’s a John Doe. No identification of any kind on the poor dear. He is barely out of the threshold of his teenage years too, by the looks of it. The magickal core was all but depleted to the point of magickal exhaustion. Such a scrawny thing he is too. I can’t have you bargin’ in like a herd of buffalo just because you’re too impatient for the lad to wake,” Sniffed the voice of a woman, nearby.

Sitting up, he rubbed at his face with the back of his hand, feeling the now very-faint, etched, scarred outline of “I must not tell lies” against his eyelids. He grimaced and mentally batted the irritating memory of Umbridge’s sickeningly-sweet smirk away from his mind’s eye.

A woman, with graying, chestnut-brown hair, who wore aqua-colored, Mediwizard robes stood in his doorway, facing away from him—her hands on her hips. She appeared to be in her mid to late fifties.

In front of her stood two oddly dressed men— in quite old-fashioned-looking navy and silver Auror robes.

One was a bit short and portly with a salt and pepper mustache and a drastically-balding head, he tried to use a comb-over to hide. His dark beetle-brown eyes were beady and nasty looking and his bushy eyebrows made him look quite comical indeed.

“Now see here, we had reports of an unidentified wizard apparating without a license in the middle of a crowd, in downtown-bloody-muggle London. Caused quite the uproar you see. We had to wipe several blocks full of memories because of this disturbance. You will allow us access to the lad, this instant!”

Besides the short bushy-browed man stood a tall elegant, lanky, younger man with mid-length jet-black hair and aristocratic features. His face was so jarring to Harry—he could have sworn he was looking at a mirror of a much younger, more healthy, version of Sirius Black.

“What my partner means to convey is that we must question the young man in your care, with the utmost haste please,” The younger Auror remarks smoothly—in a charmingly soothing manner. The man’s silver-gray eyes lock with Harry’s emerald-green ones, narrowing ever so slightly, in curiosity. “And it seems we have good timing. The lad seems to be awake.”

Turning back toward Harry, the mediwitch’s lips twitch and then purse downward, forming a thin line of annoyance. “I suppose he is awake now...no helping it if it's official Ministry business,” She muttered out bitterly, before wiping her hands on the front of her smock indignantly.

Eyeing the Aurors again, with much distaste, she adds, “But you are not to upset him. He was rather out of it before we helped him and I will not be having him fall into another traumatic episode like when he first came in here. Am I clear?”

“Yes, Ma’am. You have our word,” Stated the younger Auror swiftly—talking over the angry sputter of the shorter, older Auror beside him.

Rather reluctantly, the Mediwitch stepped aside and allowed the two men entry into the room.

Harry sat up better in bed—his hands folded on his lap.

Blinking he made a motion to push up his glasses on reflex, but soon realized his glasses were nowhere to be found—yet he could see clearly. He shelved that discovery for later mulling over.

Both Aurors magicked chairs to appear next to his bed. The one with the bushy mustache pulled out a small scroll pad and quill as the man eyed him like he had murdered his wife and children, or something far worse.

The one who reminded him of Sirius gave him a charming, but falsely-reassuring smile—which immediately set him apart from Sirius, who never was one to be good at hiding his emotions. “It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance. I wish it were under better circumstances. I am Alphard Black, of the Noble and Ancient House of Black. And this is my partner Jonathan Prewett. By now you have probably already gathered that we are Aurors from the Ministry of Magick. Let us start easy, shall we? Can we get your name and age—if you would be so kind?”

Clearing his throat to try and get rid of the thick muck inside of it, Harry spoke with a bit of a rasp to his voice, “Hadrian James Peverell. And last time I checked I was around sixteen. It’s quite hard to keep track when you’re on the run though. I don’t even know what month or date it is, at the moment.”

Frowning at him like he were daft Auror, Prewett snorted, “You don’t know your age? That’s bollocks if I've ever heard it. And who do you think you are, parading around as one of the Peverell, of all things? A Peverell indeed. Pure fairytale nonsense, poppycock twiddle. And not knowing the date? Why I’ve never heard such...” His mustache bristled with annoyance, as he trailed off.

Glaring slightly, Harry’s eye twitched angrily, with a slight tick. “Look, sir, Auror Prewett was it? If you question the authenticity of my claim have my blood tested at Gringotts bank. I wouldn’t lie about something so huge. If I could be born to another family’s kin, I would have done so in a heartbeat, but alas I have not that power so I must make do with what I have left. Also, I hardly have the energy to sit up at the moment—let alone lie to annoying, persistently-rude strangers.”

Prewett sputtered indignantly, “Now you see here you uppity, little whelp...”

Alphard sighed and verbally stepped into the conversation again, “Hadrian was it?” He flipped and leafed through a booklet with magical script popping up and vanishing on it every five seconds. “Odd, we do not have a Hadrian Peverell listed amongst our records. And in fact, no Peverell has been recorded in the past three-hundred-thirty-seven years, in the United Kingdom. How can you account for that?”

Rubbing a hand over his face Harry grumbles. “For one, my family left Britain centuries ago. I’m sure I look bloody ridiculous claiming to be the heir to a long-since-thought-to-be-extinct-magickal family, but as I have already stated, if you have the goblins test my blood with an inheritance test, I can prove it.”

“Fine, boy. Even if you are who you say you are, we’ve got a few problems to sift through,” Growled Jonathan Prewett—frowning at the teenager’s attitude. “Like, why you thought it smart to apparate straight into the thicket of a crowd of muggles?”

“Yeah, well, not my best of ideas mind you...but I wasn’t quite thinking clearly at that point. I was running from the war,” Harry remarks, clenching the bedsheets.

“Can you specify?” Alphard Black questions, his silvery-gray eyes glinting some, cautiously curios. His auto-quill magicked and ready to jot things down, floating next to him.

“Grindlewald’s men were after me.”

“Because you’re a Peverell, I take it? Where are your parents, boy?” Prewett inquires, incredulously.

“Dead obviously, or they’d be here. Wouldn’t you think?” Remarks Hadrian, in a deadpan sort of way.

Frowning at him, Auror Prewett seemed just about to start yelling again, when the Mediwitch from earlier bustles back into the room, smiling brightly. “You’re quite the popular young man today. It seems that Hogwart’s Transfiguration Professor, Albus Dumbledore, has come forward to speak on your behalf.”

The man in question walked through the door’s archway—a small, welcoming smile touching his lips. He wore bright, burgundy robes over a silver-trimmed, pants suit. His dark-blue eyes were accessing him as they held their merry-twinkle, as always.—beard and hair shorter and more auburn than gray.

“We are not done questioning the boy,” Prewett grounds out, as he stands abruptly.

“There will be no more questions until the boy has recovered properly. And has his Gringotts inheritance-test. You are more than welcome to visit the poor boy at Hogwarts, if necessary, Auror Prewett,” Replies Dumbledore with a soft, but firm authority. “Headmaster Dippet has extended an invitation and sanctuary for Mister Peverell to attend the sixth year at Hogwarts, this year, on September 1st. Now do make your way out of the room, please. We would not want to upset the lad any further.”

Alphard immediately plastered on a charming smile, that did not match his keen, icy-silver eyes. “Ah, Professor. What a delight to see you again. We shall send the information we’ve gathered back to headquarters, but I cannot promise we will not be back without evidence of the boy’s heritage. An undocumented, underaged, orphaned, pureblood heir is someone who needs protection and mentoring.”

“I most certainly agree! Which he will, without a shadow of a doubt, get in spades at Hogwarts. I assure you, Auror Black. He will be more than safe there than any other place in the United Kingdom.” Dumbledore assures Hadrian, with a wink.

“We will take our leave then. Thank you, Professor Dumbledore,” Alphard states coolly, as both Aurors reluctantly leave the room—leaving only Dumbledore and the Mediwitch with Harry.

Taking Alphard’s abandoned chair the older man sits and watches Harry with a cautious, but friendly gaze.

The Mediwitch smiles at them both and conducts some minor status charms on Harry. “I am so glad you are awake and lucid Mister Peverell. I am Isabelle Nott, by the way. I’ve been taking care of you since you arrived.”

Nodding mutely, Harry manages a small smile in return before looking back to his old headmaster—taking in his much younger appearance with a critical glance.

“When can Mister Peverell get released, Miss Isabelle?” Smiles Dumbeldore at the woman standing next to them.

“Hmm...well his status is currently healthy, but his magickal core is still a bit strained. I’d say one more night, just to be on the safe side. But he should be able to leave by early morning, Professor,” Mediwitch Nott smiles to them. “How are you feeling, Hadrian?”

Harry shifts on the bed, as both inquiring gazes land on him. “Well actually, I’ve never felt more rested. I am a bit sore in my arm and leg muscles, but that’s about all I can complain about, Lady Nott.”

“Well then, I’ll leave to you your talk. And please just call me Isabelle.” She smiles and pats Harry’s shoulder gently before leaving the room.

“Let's drop the smiling mentor act shall we?” Harry states, quietly. “You’re just here because you want something. Right? Why else would you pretend to care about an orphaned teenager claiming to be a Peverell, with no given proof currently to his claims?”

Dumbledore smiled some, his eyes becoming a tad guarded as his dark-blue gaze flits over Harry’s face. “Has anyone ever told you that you remind them of the Potters? Did you know that the Peverell line created/intermingled into that influential magickal ancestral family?”

Swallowing back a retort, Harry curbed his anger. “Yes, my lessons from my mother told me that much.”

Tilting his head, Albus lifts an eyebrow. “You are a natural Occlumens, how curious?”

“Yes, well I had an old mentor who did not know when to leave well enough alone. No thoughts were safe from him. So I taught myself,” He replied, strengthening his mental shields, just in case of assault.

“Sounds like quite a trying experience. A mind is a delicate thing, we should never be too careful hmm?” The older man steeples his hands on his lap before continuing, “As for my interest in you, I happened to be on the muggle street you so unceremoniously apparated onto. You caused quite a spectacle to behold. Such raw magickal power held in such a small package was undoubtedly remarkable to me.”

“How coincidental.” Harry remarks shrewdly, “What are the chances of that?”

Smiling jovially Dumbledore takes it in stride, “I happen to often habit this lovely little muggle candy shoppe around there, they sell the most delicious sugar crystallized pineapple confections, perhaps I can get you some sometime.”

Standing the older wizard continues to smile down at Harry, “Now you get some rest, I’ll be here bright and early to take you to Gringotts, and then we will be on our way to Hogwarts. Luckily for you, the start of the term has not started yet so things are rather quiet at the castle. It won’t be for another four days or so, you’ll be able to get assimilated before then thankfully. I do hope you get sorted into the proper house Mister Peverell, one wouldn’t want your talents to lye in waste elsewhere.”

And with that, he left Harry to his thoughts.

\-------------------------------------------

The great hall’s enchanted starry night sky twinkled and sparkled merrily overhead as the Hogwarts students dined for the very first supper of the year. Banners of red and gold, green and silver, blue and bronze, and yellow and black hung over the hundreds of children and teenagers.

After the Hogwarts chorus finished their annual practiced songs they collected their toads and long brimmed pointed hats, then vacated the front of the hall to allow the sorting hat to begin its little ditty of a predicting song of the year to come.

Headmaster Dippet then stood up as the hat finished its tune, the old man creaked in his joints as he rose from his golden wing-backed chair. Smoothing out his very long gray beard he smiled happily to them all in a grandfatherly fashion and then announced a quick warning against going into the forbidden forest, mentioning the new prefects and head boys and girls for that year before the feast’s beginning.

Tom Riddle sat with his chin held high as the King of Slytherin looking every bit prim and proper; his Prefect badge pinned to his robes neatly as it shone in the light of the candles floating overhead. His fellow sixth years and his Slytherin inner court sat toward the middle of the long table; he sipped a bit of pumpkin juice, boredom taking over his features as he lazily eyed the first year sorting. He clapped appropriately when Slytherin house received a new snakeling of course.

“Did any of you hear about the new odd sorting this year?” Atticus Avery inquired—the boy’s slick-mop of golden-brown hair was mussing up a bit around the edges, from his excitement.

Lifting a delicate brow, Tom made the go-on gesture, with his hand, and curious tilt of his head.

Avery sipped from his goblet—generously making his Adam's apple bob before he continued. “Father told me that we will have a new sixth-year transfer today. One from the most surprising and ancient house.”

“A new recruitment perhaps, Tom?” Calvin Nott inquires softly—his light-blue eyes sparking with challenge.

“Don’t be so presumptuous, Nott,” Francis Lestrange groused, nastily.

Abraxas Malfoy rolled his eyes a bit. “Who’s to say what Tom will decide? We shall have to wait patiently and take his lead.”

Cassius Rosier looked to Tom and smiled—a unique, only-to-him-dreamy kind of smile. “He will be someone to go toe-to-toe with—in a tug a war of emotion and turmoil. He will pull things from you that you never knew existed, before now.” With that, the sandy-blond boy went back to eating his dinner—happily ignoring the stunned looks from his court mates.

Tom frowned—his lips pursing and twitching some as he scanned the first year sorting for said transfer.

As the first-year students sorting came to a close, Headmaster Dippet stood once again and motioned for someone else to come up to the sorting hat.

A teenage male came forward—out of the shadows. He looked rather on the short and lithe side for their age group—only about five-foot-five, perhaps five-six, if you were to push things. His pale skin caught the firelight of the candles, making silvery shadows dance across the flesh—showing small patchworks of slivers of scarring here and there.

The newcomer’s jet-black hair had an odd, auburn-hue to it when it hit a certain light and fell in a disarray of curls, reaching to his mid-back—it was pulled into a low, loose ponytail, held by simple, silk, silver ribbon and bow. There was an elegant kind of fae-like quality of beauty to the contours and arches of his face. Telltale signs of pure-blood ancestry for sure. That and a slight hollow of cheekbones of someone who had not been able to eat very much over the past few months.

“With us today we have an unfortunate, but surprising, and much-welcomed transfer caused by the war. Please let us guide him with open arms and hearts today—Hadrian Peverell. Please have a seat and we shall begin your sorting.” Dippet motions to the old weathered hat seated on a stool before them.

An uproar of whispers echoed throughout the Great Hall as soon as the transfer’s last name was spoken.

Turning Peverell looked up at the Great Hall’s occupants and sat down. His somber, haunted, Avada Kedavra, emerald-green eyes glowing eerily, right before the brim of the hat covered them.

“Hot damn, he’s a bit of a cutie ain’t he?” Orion Black murmured—awestruck.

“I thought you were gaga for Walburga? Why are you talking like a fucking poof, wanting to bend the transfer over the nearest flat surface, Black?” Lestrange snickers.

“Take your bloody potion, Franny. No one cares what you think, anyway.” Orion grinned slyly as Lestrange’s face quickly turned puce, in color. “Hmm, I think he’s a hat stall.”

After several minutes of silence the Hat hmphed in anger and annoyance and called out, “Well then, it best be Slytherin!”

Peverell’s black robes were now glistening, silver and green, and sporting a green and silver tie to match.

Said teen did not look happy, not in the least, at the choice of housing—as he all but threw the hat off his head and glared at it.

Coughing some, Dippet pats the small of the teenager’s back reassuringly, as he motioned for him to sit down with his new house.

“Looks like the lil guy has a temper,” Mused Nott.

Snickering, Abraxas eyed the new student curiously. “Maybe he’s got a bit of Lestrange in his family tree. Francis looks like you’ll get along swimmingly with him.”

“Oh, haha, Abbie,” Francis snarks back.

“Oooh, he’s coming our way. Shall we greet him, Tom?” Inquired Avery.

“Make room,” was Tom’s only answer.

A silent Solomon Mucliber made room for the small teen to sit next to him—which was directly across from Tom.

\---------------------------------

Taking in his surroundings, Hadrian grimaced. Of course, the only damned place left at the table would be in the center, where Tom Marvolo Riddle was. 

Curse the Potter bad luck.

Groaning inwardly, he made his way toward the small group of sixth-year snakes, forcing his lips to twitch upward, in the guise of a polite mask, he smiles and seats himself—finding himself face to face with the charming, handsome, and manipulative face of his past nemesis—now so-called soulmate.

A soft silence greets him before Riddle clears his throat. “You look a tad uncomfortable, please don’t be. We are all family here. after all. Slytherin takes care of their own. You will want for nothing with us.”

Lifting a slender brow Hadrian forces a pained-looking smile in return. “I’m not used to crowds of this size yet, my apologizes, um…?”

“Tom Riddle,” Replies the dark-chestnut-brown-haired teen, “but please, do call me Tom. I am currently one of the Slytherin Prefects. Please don’t be shy, come to me if you are feeling lost, in any way. In fact, why don’t I give you the grand tour and help you find your classes in the morning?”

Before Hadrian could protest, Orion Black grins next to Riddle and places a roasted chicken breast onto Hadrian’s plate. “You look very thin. Can’t have you starving before the year starts! I’m Orion Black, by the way. Pleased to make your acquaintance, Peverell.”

Blinking at the sudden side-swerve of the previous conversation, Hadrian manages a rare, small, genuine smile, “Ah, I could tell you were a Black. And I am not thin, but lean,” He huffed.

Orion laughs, “Oh? How could you tell? Was it the manic gleam of craziness in my eyes? Or my handsome good looks, that tipped you off? Oh, and you should try the Shepherd's pie—it’s to die for and might put some meat on your bones.”

Hadrian holds back his laughter, his amusement flickering in his emerald orbs. He takes a small helping of the Shepherd's pie at the teen's suggestion. “Well, the telltale signs I suppose? The gray-silver eyes. Black hair. Pale skin. No craziness, that I can see, though. You are a tad bit hyper, perhaps?”

Orion grins and strokes his chin in mock concentration, “Yes, yes. You’ve listed all of my best qualities.”

Lestrange snorts and roughly elbows Orion in the ribs, causing Black to yelp. Francis, thusly, pushes his way into the conversation. “You a fairy fag, Peverell? Seems like you’re looking too much in detail at blokes, instead of the womenfolk.”

“Oh, lay off him, Lestrange,” Nott frowns.

“If I preferred the company of men, instead of ladies, it wouldn’t be any of your business in the least,” Hadrian remarked, evenly and calmly, eyeing Lestrange with an icy-glare so cold it could freeze the Great lake.

“Do ignore Francis. He is quite the rude ruffian when you first meet him,” Abraxas states, smiling politely. “I am Abraxas Malfoy, the sandy-haired boy is Calvin Nott. Of course, you’ve already, unfortunately, encountered Francis Lestrange. The quiet chap next to you is Solomon Mulciber, the dreamy-sort-of-boy, Cassius Rosier is next to him. And last but not least, Atticus Avery is next to Orion.”

“I’m sure it will be an experience of another kind to get to know all of you,” Hadrian smiles in return.

Tom sips from his goblet and watches their interactions silently.

Dessert soon is served—littering the table with hundreds of different, decadent pastries, puddings, jiggly jellos, and jams.

“Oooh, Peverell you have to try the peach cobbler,” Orion said around a mouthful of said dessert.

“Blech, keep your gigantic maw shut when you chew, Black. It’s positively disgusting,” Abraxas reprimands with a wrinkle of his delicate nose and a huff.

“Please, call me Hadrian.”

“Hadrian, it is then,” Riddle replies in Orion’s stead.

Wordlessly, Hadrian nods and places some treacle tart on his plate.

This was going to be a long school year.

“Did the Thestral warn you, Hadrian?” Smiles Cassius in a knowing way that makes everyone else at the table look at him rather oddly.

Looking confused for a moment, the ravenette boy eyes the pale, blue-eyed boy who reminded him of Luna, “I haven't the foggiest what you’re talking about, Rosier, but if you mean to say I heed warnings about the Slytherin student body then don’t worry. I have been well warned to be careful where I step, so to speak.”

Shaking his head, looking somewhat disappointed, Cassius takes a bite of chocolate pudding, licks it clean from his spoon before speaking again, “I suppose you didn’t listen to the Little Moon’s words either, hmm?”

Paling dramatically, Hadrian nearly falls off of his seat, backward.

“Hadrian?” Someone inquired sounding worried.

“Why did you say something so creepy again, to a new student and everything, Cas! Oh, shit now he’s as white as a fucking sheet,” Orion remarks, concernedly.

“Oh, he looks like he’s about to hurl. Poor guy,” Someone nonchalantly remarks.

“Someone get him a glass of water. Now!” Riddle’s voice chimes in, demanding, as one of his strong hands curl around the lower part of the, seemingly comatose, raven’s back. Sparks of electricity shoot up Tom’s fingers upon touching him causing the taller teenager to blink, confusedly.

A goblet of water is gently ushered into his hand and mechanically he takes a sip or two.

The coolness of the water brings him back slightly as he stares into the worried eyes of Orion, who is kneeling next to him, and the cautious but curious eyes of the rest of Riddle’s gang.

“Are you feeling a bit better?” The smooth, almost gentle, baritone of Riddle sounds right next to his ear, electing unwanted shivers to wrack his frame.

Quickly standing, Hadrian sways slightly on his feet. He glares at his legs—the bloody traitors.

A steadying arm wraps securely around his waist, pulling him against a flat smooth, and warm clothed chest. The scent of cinnamon and parchment entrenches into his nose, a full assault of his senses.

Blinking, Hadrian looks up and over his shoulder into the gray-blue eyes of Tom Riddle.

“Perhaps we should take a quick trip to the infirmary. Madam Blackthorn might need to take a look at you,” Riddle states evenly.

Standing straighter, the smaller teen feels heat flood his face in embarrassment and an unfamiliar feeling he couldn’t place. “No! I mean...no, thank you.” He states, quickly licking his lips some, as he tries to quickly gather his thoughts. “I’m fine, just weary from travel, is all. I just need a good night's sleep.”

“Hmm,” Riddle states softly, eyeing him like a hawk would its prey. “Alright, but I must insist on personally taking you back to the commons. You look like you are about to pass out.”

Sighing, the shorter boy turns toward the great hall’s doors, he then nods his head towards them as an invitation to take the lead.

Smiling in a devilishly handsome way, Riddle does just that, “This way then.”

\---------------------------------

The Slytherin common room was as he remembered it back in his second year, but somehow it was less foreboding and cozier.

Plush armchairs and couches with warm-looking throw blankets and pillows were scattered artfully around a roaring fireplace.

A merperson with slitted, pink eyes and wispy, leafy hair eyed them for a moment before its tail thumped against the glass and it swam past one of the dividing walls, and into the depths of the lake.

Blinking owlishly for a moment, Hadrian felt his heart thump against his ribcage as he recalled his fourth year. Nope, nothing could get him to go back into that bloody dangerous lake again, no sir.

He quickly remembered that the glass was reinforced by magick warding that kept the Great Lake’s waters out of the dungeons.

Riddle smirks some as he watched the new transfer, “Ah yes, the merpeople. You tend to get used to their tantrums, after a while.”

“It's bloody freezing down here,” Hadrian remarks as he sits near the fireplace, in one of the cozy armchairs.

Some of the younger Slytherin students whisper amongst themselves as they watch Hadrian and Tom’s interactions.

Tom takes the armchair closest to Hadrian’s and nods, “You learn to cast warming charms and cuddle amongst the throw blankets. I do not doubt that as time goes by you will acclimate better.”

Hadrian warmed his heavily calloused hands over the licking flames, as he half eyed Riddle out of the corner of his eye.

Orion sits on the floor next to Hadrian’s feet, wrapped in a blanket, his feet spread out toward the fire, toes wiggling, “You, my dear friend, need a nickname.”

Blinking some, Hadrian lifts an eyebrow, “a nickname?”

“Mmmhmm, Hadrian is so prim and proper after all, and I can’t just call you Peverell, all the time!” The Silver-eyed teenager states as if it were obvious to everyone.

Licking his lips a bit nervously, Hadrian smiles, but it doesn’t quite meet his eyes, “Well...I suppose you could call me Harry.”

Snapping his fingers together Orion grins, “Harry! Yes! Why didn’t I think of that! Perfect nickname, if I do say so myself.”

Malfoy walks over and sits on one of the nearby couches, an open book in hand, “Peverell barely knows anyone, and you want to give the poor man a nickname as if you were best friends? You’re just being lazy, Orion.”

Tom chuckles from his armchair, “I don’t know, I quite like Hadrian over Harry. Harry sounds so ordinary, don’t you think?”

“Ordinary? I mean, I guess you and I have a lot in common, seeing that the name Tom is on the normal side of the spectrum, hmm?” Hadrian states evenly, his emerald eyes flashing coldly.

Orion and Malfoy still and look to Riddle for his reaction.

Tom’s eyes grow icy, but he calmly smiles, “Yes well as plebeian as my namesake is, I make up for in leaps and bounds in other ways. Ways I could share with you, Hadrian, if you’d only ask.”

“I think I’ll pass,” Hadrian just as calmly states as he stands. “Orion, can you show me where our bunks are?”

Orion rubs the back of his neck tensely, but gets to his feet and nods, grinning slightly he leads the way to the sixth-year male dorms. “This way, Harry.

\---------------------------

“Be careful with what you say to Tom okay?” Orion states as soon as they are out of range of the common room.

“Why would I censor myself just to make that git happier?”

Orion rubs his face, “Tom…um, is special, I guess you could say? He’s the Slytherin King, the top dog around here. Plus, he’s Prefect! And...and...he’s got a sadistic side Harry, a side you don’t want to mess with okay? Just be careful is all I’m saying. Watch where you tread, you don’t wanna poke the bear on your first day here.”

Snorting Hadrian climbs the stairs to the dorm room, “I can take care of myself, but I’ll try not to upset poor Riddle’s sensibilities.”

“You’re a bit snarky for a small bloke, ain’t yah? I hope you can back up what you say,” Orion mutters.

“Anyways, here’s the sixth year dorms for us men! Womenfolk are on the opposite end of the commons. Prefect’s bedrooms are down the hall. Lucky shits, get their own bedroom. Don’t tell Tom I called him that though...”

“Your secrets are safe with me,” Hadrian snickers with a zipped mouth motion of his fingers.

“So, you’re bunk is next to your trunk, which has already been delivered. I think your bunk is next to Cassius’.” The silver-eyed teen says softly, “You should get some rest, everyone wakes up around six or seven AM, depending on how late you wanna sleep. But mornings are the coldest so you’re gonna want to make sure to cast a few warming charms before you nod off.”

“Why does everyone get up so early?” Hadrian mused out loud as he inspected his bed and wandlessly cast two or three warming charms, a warding spell, and a silencing charm.

Gaping some at the wandless magick for a moment Orion just blinked before shaking his head, “Urm...well we’re Tom’s inner circle, we’re supposed to set a good example for the rest, I suppose. Alright then, have good dreams, Harry.”

Orion mock salutes him and walks back down to the commons, leaving Harry seemingly alone.

“I wanted to apologize,” a voice to his right states softly.

Cassius Rosier sat on his own bed, cross-legged, in his PJs, wearing fluffy socks, a throw blanket wrapped around his shoulders.

Nearly whipping out his wand and jumping out of his skin, Hadrian’s green eyes found the other dreamy quiet boy, “...Damn it all, mate...were you here the whole time?”

Smiling softly, Cassius merely tilts his head to the side, “Maybe.”

Rubbing a hand over his face Hadrian sighs, “You’re gonna give me a heart attack goin’ around and popping out like that, Rosier. What did you wanna apologize for anyways?”

“For upsetting you. I tend to do that more often than not—upsetting people I mean,” The boy mumbles quietly, his eyes downcast and somber.

Feeling a teeny bit of guilt upon the other’s reaction, the ravenette frowns, “Don’t be sorry...just how do you know all this, anyhow? By Little Moon did you mean Luna?”

Looking up with hooded, whimsical, and sleepy eyes Cassius nods before speaking, “Luna...your Little Moon, she told you what you needed to know. But I do not think you listened very well. You tend to not listen and run in head first, hmm? That won’t work here in Slytherin, Harry. You have to build a mask and hide all that anger. Perhaps meditation might help?”

“Never been good at meditation much...” Hadrian trails off and flops onto his bed.

“Luna wanted you to do better. It’s up to you now whether or not you wish to be happier this time around,” Rosier murmurs as he falls asleep sitting up, letting out a soft snore.

“Happier...huh?” Hadrian looks at the deep churning of the Great Lake. “Sounds nice…don’t suppose I remember how though...” He smiles sadly before curling up under the covers and falling asleep.

Red-tinged, gray-blue eyes watch from the shadows of the dorm room, “Interesting.” moving out of the gloom, Tom walks over to Hadrian’s sleeping form, silently dismantling the wards around the bed like shooing away a spiders web—he did so in a way so as not to alarm the sleeping occupant.

Tom trailed his finger over the sleeping younger's cheek, reveling in the tiny shivers it caused to the other, and the sparks of pure magick leaping into the air. It rolled off of the smaller teen like a miasma.

Licking his lips hungrily, the Prefect moved away reluctantly, “All in due time...sleep well little raven.”


End file.
